


Distraction

by justlikehoney



Category: ASBAR, All-Star Batman and Robin, Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: ASBAR - Freeform, All-Star Batman and Robin - Freeform, Consent Issues, Frank Miller hates Batman, It's gorgeous art though, M/M, Out of character for every Batman except ASBAR Batman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 06:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikehoney/pseuds/justlikehoney
Summary: Robin only had to do one thing.





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> You may not like this. It's based on ASBAR, All-Star Batman and Robin, an awful comic that's like a car wreck you can't look away from, by Frank Miller. Who, I really do think, has grown to hate Batman. The art is gorgeous. Basically, it's Batman running around like a madman with an erection from ~~being a thug~~ fighting crime. It's incredibly violent, and for no reason, he has sex with Black Canary and seems like a total pedophile, and he and Robin beat the hell out of Green Lantern in yellow room. But there's no Black Canary or Green Lantern here, just ASBAR Batman. Google All-Star Batman and Robin if you want to know more. 
> 
> Actually, I'll post a quote from wikipedia:  
>  _Initially released with great fanfare and much anticipation, All Star Batman has consistently received negative reviews from critics. Nearly all complaints about the series are directed at Frank Miller's writing, specifically his non-traditional interpretation of the main character. In the series to date, Batman is consistently displayed as violent, cruel and almost childish at times, excited by his own sadism towards criminals, musing over the injuries he inflicts and disarray that follows. Infamous examples of this include his verbal and physical abuse of Dick Grayson in an attempt to prevent him from grieving over his parents' deaths, and the action of throwing a Molotov cocktail during a fight._
> 
>  _In issue #2 Miller's gritty style of dialogue led the title character to introduce himself to Grayson as "the Goddamn Batman". The phrase was repeated at least once in nearly every subsequent issue of the comic._ So that's where that line is from. And apologies if you already know all this. 
> 
> Critics also said he was trying to write "Sin City" in a batsuit. Oh, and I almost forgot: IIRC, he makes Dick eat rats and abandons him in the batcave. And when he goes to the circus, he makes creepy comments about Dick.
> 
> Oh, and Wonder Woman calls Superman a "sperm bank."
> 
> Here, you can see more on Scans_Daily: https://scans-daily.dreamwidth.org/tag/title:+all-star+batman+and+robin

**Distraction**

All he had to do was create a distraction. 

A distraction. 

Shouldn’t be so hard for a kid. From the circus. In green panties.  
__________________________________________________

I gun the engine and we shoot through iron gates, leaving the rain-flooded cemetery and his parents to the worms. “Let’s go home, kid.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me with that weird, wide-open stare. Like a doll. A dirty little catatonic doll. 

“Blink.” 

He blinks, but it doesn‘t help. The rain washed him a little. Underneath the grime, snot and bruises, he has dark circles under those huge blue eyes. Maybe Alfred’s right: I ought to let him start sleeping in the house. Maybe. His legs are all scratched up, too.

“You look like hell.” 

He nods, just barely. I don’t think he hears me. 

The police radio squawks. Something’s going down in the warehouse district. 1919 Giordano. 

I’ve been waiting for this one. Left a little runner broken in the alley behind McSurley’s for the door code. It wasn’t pretty. Kid should be in school, not doing odd jobs for dealers. 

I floor the engine and we rocket into the night, hurtling through brackish puddles and bad streets. “Good hunting tonight, kid.” 

He doesn’t respond. His eyes have glazed. 

I slap him. Not too hard, but it’s loud and his head snaps back. “We’re gonna go kick some ass, kid.”

A grin that is way too much creepy glee spreads across his face. “Yeah.”

___________________

1919 is a three-story in the warehouse district. Get off at the second floor for the meth lab, third floor for meth whores. One stop shopping for Gotham’s finest: drugs, cash, sex--but they’d finally decided to cash in all the collateral instead of just skimming off the top. My job was to see to it there wasn’t anything left. Send the pigs a message. Every crooked one.

I give the brat the security code. He blinks, repeats it. Seems like he’s got it together again. Good soldier, if he can keep it that way. Distract ‘em. Bang on the front door and scare a few of ‘em out the back, let me handle the rough stuff. He’s not quite… ready for the rough stuff. Or maybe he’s too ready. Hard to peg.

The brat is brave, I’ll give him that. Brave and stupid. 

Be a distraction. Shouldn’t be too hard for a circus kid dressed in red, green and yellow, right? 

But he couldn’t stay out of it. My little soldier doesn’t follow orders. He does a triple flip, gives the thugs the fucking finger through the spy hole, watching me to see if I see it too. What? You want applause? (Don’t worry, kid. I saw it. And I will take it out of your hide.) 

While he’s grinning at me--that same weird damn grin--they grab him. Jabbed the gun in his back. 

So he’s fucked now, and he can tell he’s fucked. He starts saying he’s sorry. Over and over again. Only I can tell he’s saying it to me, not to them. Them, he’s fighting like a hellcat. They’ve got a gun in his back and he’s scratching and kicking and damned if he doesn’t writhe free through sheer force of will. That creepy glee is back, and he almost takes a bow when he lashes out and away from the biggest thug’s grasp, landing light next to where I’m pounding the other goon, the one who had the drop on him from across the room.

“Get. Fucking. Out.” 

I beat the hell out every player in the joint and most of the junkies. After the last four or five losers just let me bang ‘em unconscious, I get myself together and go after the kid. At least the rain’s stopped.

He’s three blocks away, in a dark alley. Good thinking, kid: Gotham alley, darkest corner. He’s shaking all over, chanting some kind of muttered gibberish. 

I edge up behind him, and he knows somebody’s there when I slap my hand over his mouth.

He tries to bite me, of course. Bitch. The gauntlets are too tough for him to do much damage. 

I heave him up with the other hand, all ninety pounds of kicking kid, and pin him to my chest, so I can whisper in his ear. I’m liking the fight. He’s got a lot of it in him.

I rasp my stubble against his neck a little, just to get his attention. He stinks.

“Stop. Kicking.” I wait for the command to register. I count to thirteen before the little green boots still. 

I keep my voice low and I speak real slow. “You know you fucked up, right?”

Can’t talk with my hand in the way. He nods. 

“Do you know how?”

He hesitates for a moment, frozen in my arms. Nods again, shaky.

“Confession’s good for the soul, kid. I’m going to ask you to confess.” I worry him a little, then move my hand off his mouth so he can talk. “What did you do wrong?" I lick my lips. "Robin."

“Didn't--didn’t follow orders.”

“Yeah, soldier.”

“I thought--”

“I’ll tell you what, kid.” I cut him off, put him down. Crouch to his eye-level. I can feel my own breath bouncing off of his way too pretty face. “You stop thinking. I do the thinking for both of us. You don’t even know what you’re up against.” I’m grabbing him too--may leave bruises. I loosen my hold. 

He squirms, forcing me to tighten it again. “But I--“

So I tell him again, each word a rough squeeze to his collar bone. “Why don’t you just stop thinking for a while?”

He lifts his head to look up at me, and it’s that weird, creepy look. He stands on his tiptoes, reaches up. Snakes his arms up around my neck. Kisses, softly. Half on the corner of my mouth. A dry, chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth. Soft, dry lips against my coarse stubble.

I shove him away, hard.

“What are you, a sissy?”

“I just wanted--”

“You just wanted what? You wanna be my girlfriend, princess? I need a partner.” I grab his shoulders. Rip off the stupid yellow cape. Drop it on the filthy concrete. It pools at my feet, grime from the wet pavement leaching up to stain it dark. 

He smiles at me, that crazy doll smile, too wide grin and too pretty eyes. He knows, but he’s not getting any mushy stuff. I need to get off.

I lean back against brick. “Get down on your knees, soldier.” 

But he’s already sinking.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, we're almost at the end of my stash of Batman/Robin. I think I have one more already written. Leave me a comment, maybe I'll write more. ;) Hell, leave me a prompt and I'll see if I can do it. You guys are great about kudos, though. Thanks!


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